Bad Radio (7 page)

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, as we rolled to a stop. She didn’t reply. “Listen, I want to come to Patrick’s funeral. I don’t have a phone number or even an address now. But there’s a number I can give you for a friend of mine. Will you call me and let me know when to come?”

“Is this friend another one of your war buddies?” She was looking straight ahead out of the windshield as she spoke.

“Yes. I’m going to visit Henry Monroe, maybe stay with him for a while until I figure out what to do about my farm.” There was no sense in rebuilding as far as I could see, but it also didn’t feel right to leave it the way it was. I needed to think about it. Afterwards.

“Henry. That’s the Professor, right?” I nodded. “My grandfather kept a picture of you guys in the living room, and he used to tell me stories the whole time I was growing up. I must have heard about that time he ran you over with a jeep to keep you from getting shot by a sniper a hundred times.”

“We never did find his mystery sniper, if there was one.” I had to smile. Everybody had heard the crack of the rifle, but that didn’t stop us from riding Patty about it anyway. Shad spent an entire week diving out of the way every time Patty started a vehicle.

“Henry has one of those pieces of metal, doesn’t he?”

“He might, if he kept it all these years.”

“He has one of those goddamn pieces of metal, and he knows what’s going on just like you do. The both of you know all about these bait things or whatever, and you know why my grandfather was killed, don’t you? And you’re just going to sit there like an asshole and not tell me, is that it? So long, Anne! Thanks a lot for the ride!”

“Anne—”

“Hey, fuck you, okay? I’m not going to get a pat on the head and then drive home to be by myself in my apartment worried about smelling some smell that isn’t there, or if crazy men are going to kick my door down and stab me to death! I’m scared and I’m not …” She pressed her face into her hands. “I’m not going to be sent away to just hide in my apartment and not know what’s going on.”

I guess I’m kind of thick sometimes. It had honestly not occurred to me that she was involved with this beyond the death of her grandfather. What was happening, and what had to be done felt private, part of a time and place that should have been long forgotten, just like those of us that had been there.

The idea that she was part of it now didn’t sit well with me. Call it an offended sense that she was intruding on something personal, or even shame if you want, but I just wanted to get out of the car without another word. Part of it, too, was that she seemed so young and untouched by the world, that the last thing I wanted to do was destroy that innocence.

I looked at her, sitting defiant and scared with her hands clenched together in her lap, and I realized that she didn’t want to be involved any more than I wanted her to be. I could see in her face that this was really about getting away from it. She needed to know that it was over, and not lingering over her forever, always waiting for something unknown to jump out around the next corner.

How did I tell her that she was better off only knowing about the bags without exposing her to the fact that there was more to fear out there?

“I’m coming with you to see Henry. Besides, you don’t even have a car, your truck is trashed.”

“I can rent a car.”

“I’m coming with you. If you’re going to go after those fuckers, then I want to be there. They killed my grandfather. I deserve to be there.”

“You can’t, you have to go to Patrick’s funeral.”

“The rest of my family can go and stand around a hole in the ground mourning an empty shell. I’m going to pay my respects by finishing what my grandfather started. I’m going to help you find what you’re looking for, just like he would have. I’m the only one left who can.”

That’s when I did a really shitty thing. I’m not a particularly nice man at the best of times, but this was pretty low, even for me. I think I justified it at the time by thinking that I’d send her home soon, but I may not have even bothered with that.

See, she was completely right. Without Anne, I didn’t have a tracker. I had to use her if I was going to have any chance of finding what I was looking for. I told myself that I could protect her, but I had been down this road before, and I knew that wasn’t true. Shadroe was proof of that. But I gave in anyway and gave her the lecture that she expected, because I knew that would seal the deal.

“Fine. But when I tell you to go, then you’re going to get in this car and drive away. No arguments, no complaining. When I decide that it’s too dangerous for you, that’s it. You don’t have any idea how bad this will get.” She opened her mouth to speak. “No, you really don’t have any idea. I’m only going to take a yes or a no.”

“Yes.”

As if any other answer was possible for her now. I got out of the car feeling dirty. She was right. I
am
an asshole.

8

M
otels like the Sweet Pastures don’t generally see much traffic in the early-morning hours. The lobby was still and deserted. A bell rang against the doorframe when we came in, but we still had a long tired minute of leaning against the counter before a man slouched out of the back office.

“Help you?” He wore jeans and a short-sleeved yellow golf shirt that strained to encircle his meaty arms. His gut was hard and round and stretched the fabric to the point of near transparency.

Even though he was still relatively young, he had the look of an aging athlete about him, still strong beneath the flab. I doubt that in his high school football heyday he had seen himself a few years later working the counter at the Pastures. He was already getting on my nerves, having directed his greeting to Anne’s T-shirt, where it pulled tight across her breasts.

“Two rooms, adjoining if you have them,” I said.

His eyes flicked to me, then back across Anne, oblivious to her narrowed eyes. His tongue touched his lower lip. “Two rooms? Yeah, I have that. Be one-twenty plus tax. Checkout is noon tomorrow.” He pulled a couple of old-fashioned keys out of his desk, and I put my credit card and ID on the counter.

The keys were heavy brass with dark green plastic ovals attached to them by a ring, with room numbers printed in big faded gold block letters. He processed my card quickly and ignored the ID, his hands working deftly and without apparent supervision.

When he was done, he slid Anne’s key across the counter under his hand, but she pulled her fingers back before he could brush them with his.

“Eight and nine, to the right as you walk out. You need anything at all, sweetness, you just call the desk. I can let myself in.” His gaze crawled down her body.

Before I was aware of making the decision, I had already grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed his head down onto the counter. The impact shook the entire front desk and cracked the wood of the countertop. He had managed to turn his face in time to save his nose and teeth, blood still sprayed out of his mouth as his lips split.

I wanted to yank his head up and slam it down again, this time hard enough to burst it open, but I didn’t. I don’t always have clarity at these moments, where I know I’m over the line and can stop myself, but this time we both got lucky.

I took my hand off his neck. “Stay down on the fucking counter, shut your mouth, and don’t look up until we leave.”

I could see the anger snapping in his eyes as he glared up at me, ready to fight, but it all drained out when he got a good look at my face. He looked away and went still, breathing heavily through his open mouth, anger replaced by fear.

You can tell when someone has reached a place in their heads where consequences no longer matter to them and any word or movement is liable to turn a confrontation into a crime scene. That’s what he was seeing now. I found myself poised, eyes locked on this piece of shit and wishing that he would twitch or say something that would give me an excuse to let go of my restraint.

We stood frozen across the counter from each other until the sound of the door slamming got my attention. Anne had stalked out of the office.

Disappointment mixed with shame as I stepped hastily away from the counter. I followed her out the door and caught up to her at Number Eight. She stopped with her key out, but instead of putting it in the lock, she spun to face me.

“I can’t believe you just did that!”

“That guy was a jackass.” I hadn’t cared much one way or another what people thought of me for years now, but all of a sudden it mattered.

“So what? I’m an adult. If I think something needs to be done, I’ll do it. I don’t need you protecting me like I’m some helpless little girl.” She jabbed the key at me. “You know what you just did? You just took away my adulthood in front of that man. Worse, you made me look like a victim.”

I felt my face grow hot. “It wasn’t even about you, alright? I just don’t like people treating women like that.”

“What was that? Women? So if he had been staring at some guy’s package, you’d have been fine with that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You think all women are weak, right?”

“No, of course not.”

“Right. Let me tell you something. I can fight and I can shoot, probably a damn sight better than you can, and I’ve been doing both since I was a kid. I don’t need you to defend me, especially against some caveman staring at my tits. And that connecting-rooms business? What’s that about? Is that so you can keep me safe, since I’m so helpless?”

I put my key in number nine’s lock and turned it hard. “No, as a matter of fact, it’s for my benefit, not yours. You’re the only alarm I’ve got, so knock if you smell anything. Or better yet, you go ahead and take care of any bags that show up, and let me get some sleep!” I went inside and slammed the door, harder than I needed to.

I was embarrassed and angry, but not so much that I couldn’t admit that she was right. Or at least partially right. I wasn’t standing up for her. I hurt that guy because I had gotten angry and couldn’t stop myself from using it as an excuse to lash out at someone.

I have had, in my long life, something of an anger-management problem. On my good days, I can walk away from it. Other days I seem to clutch at it like an addict, and like an addict, I’m ashamed of what happens afterwards. Over the years I’ve lost the respect of close friends, and more than once I almost lost Mags because of the things I’ve done. People can like you if you stand up for yourself, or someone else, but only up to a point. There’s a line that you can’t cross without becoming a monster and a savage in their eyes. It’s hard to earn that respect back, and sometimes you can’t, especially to yourself, so I try my best to keep a leash on it.

I grew up angry, but when I came back from the war, I realized that it had gotten a lot worse overseas. That I had gotten a lot worse. I’ve felt pretty proud over the last thirty years that I had matured, maybe come to terms with it. Turns out, that’s only because hiding out on my farm I haven’t had anyone to get mad at. It was humiliating to lose control and look like an ass in front of Anne, and I swore that it wouldn’t happen again. It was an old promise, worn and familiar.

I flicked on the light, and threw my keys and wallet on the dresser. The room was small and shabby and smelled faintly of cigarettes. It came complete with matted brown carpet that looked more like it was growing out of the floor than covering it, and a sagging twin bed sporting a polyester floral comforter that was probably dirtier than the carpet. I’ve stayed in worse places, but not in recent memory.

I walked to the tiny bathroom and stripped off my clothes. They reeked of sweat and smoke. I filled the sink and scrubbed them as best I could with hot water and hand soap, then squeezed them out and laid them across the air conditioner vents to dry.

I took a long shower, and the heat seemed to draw the fatigue of a long day and night up out of my bones and into my muscles, making me heavy and dragging me down.

I got out and dried myself on the thin, sandpapery towel, then slid the bedspread off onto the floor and lay down on top of the sheets. At least those were probably washed between guests. I felt leaden and absolutely still as I listened to the muffled drone of the little air conditioner.